I feel like death is looking over my left shoulder.
I never make plans for more than a couple weeks in advance because i wonder if i will even be alive then, and whats the point of making plans for something when you will be dead?
Whats so great about staying alive?
What if I left? One less dissapointment, one less person that cannot afford to send Christmas presents. Would I even be missed? There is nothing, I feel, left for me here to experience. I cannot support myself, I dont want to sell myself, I dont want to lie. I am done, I am done with this entire thing. The only way out is to become/pretend to be someone Im not. To dress up as someone pretty, someone popular, when underneath im still the new girl with big ears and bad teeth. So I work until i die, and watch my wasted intelligence drift out the window.
Everyone i see is 'well adjusted,' can tolerarate and fit into society. i still feel like the new kid no one wants to acknowledge, sitting in a corner, plotting the demise of humanity.
i dont know why i do things. i have to check the stove 3 or 4 times each time i leave to make sure its turned off, even if i didnt use it that day. i return home several times before i actually leave to make sure the door is locked. i walk back to my car more than twice each time i leave it to make absolutely sure i remembered to put it in park.
do i not trust myself? or am i just compulsive?
and im tired allllllll the time. thats how low paying jobs get you. they pay you just enough to get by, but make sure you are so exausted the next day that you cannot find the energy to look for a better job.
i fall in love with objects sometimes.
little things i see, nothing ever expensive.
i dont buy these things or they would be the only thing i look at or pay attention to.
i dont know why i do this. ive tried to supress this desire and several others on my 'quest for normalcy,' but some will not be ignored unfortunately.
im just tired. i know im not going to fit in or be a part of anything, and that im the only one like me out there. its very lonely to think that the people that love me are merely tolerating me or just holding my hand. perhaps its time to start over. all over again.